The Famous Dead
by Cannibal Cabbage
Summary: It's 3 years after the Cullens left in New Moon, and Charlie Swan hasn't seen Bella since she left for a new life. But when this new life in the public eye endangers a very old secret, and her own very new secret, how will the fallout effect everyone she once cared for? Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Stephenie Meyer, etc. R&R! x
1. Chapter 1

**AN: As it says in the introduction-thing, this is a fanfic that takes place roughly 3 years after the Cullens leave in New Moon. Bella finds her life takes a different path without them, but will she ultimately find the same happy ending? **

**Eh, I might be a little bit rusty. Not written in a while, explaining why this might be bad... oops.**

**Chapter 1: What Ever Happened To Bella Swan?**

Charlie Swan sat before the TV screen on a ripped, dirty sofa. The room around him was cluttered and unkempt; the half-empty pizza boxes gathering flies, the Chinese takeaway boxes gathering, and subsequently releasing a disgusting stench. His shirt was stained, and he had been due a wash for at least a week. It wasn't that he couldn't do these simple tasks, such as cleaning the room, cooking his own food or even showering, it was just that these menial tasks gave him time to _think_, something he'd been avoiding for a long time. Life was easier to bear when sitting mindlessly before a glossy, irrelevant screen, or face down in paperwork.

He had been like this for some time, almost three years now. That isn't to say he hadn't washed or tidied since then, just that he had begun avoiding thinking - if he could help it - three years ago. The doorbell rang, a short, sharp signal for Charlie to move. Unsteadily, he rose to his feet, and watched as they disappeared from his sight underneath his growing stomach. Attention diverted from the TV, dark, remorseful thoughts crept to mind. He wondered how his sweet, hardworking Bella would see him now, what she would say. Naturally, that led to worrying where she was, hoping she'd found her way, and desperately wishing for some contact, something, after all these years.

He reached the door, and opened it without shame in his appearance. The short, squat pizza boy wrinkled his nose as the unpleasant smell hit him. "Ah… Mr Swan. Your pizza… Seven dollars." He said, clearly reluctant to stick around. Charlie handed over the money, and their exchange was over, the door closed between them. Walking back to his well-worn seat, Charlie thought, as he always did, about Bella. She would have been disgusted with his many pizza orders. She would insist on cleaning it all up, before making him something healthy yet delicious. He hoped she was doing the same for herself right now, hoped she had enough to eat. He had been wiring money into her account ever since she left, but he had no idea if she was using it. Of course, he'd tried to find out, tried to find _her_, but she was had been 18 when she left, and would be coming 21 now, unless she was reported missing, there was nothing anyone could do, not even a chief of police. Though nobody really knew where she was, she wasn't _technically_ missing, after all, she'd left a note explaining she was leaving, and taken a lot of belongings, most notable of all her car. That note. Charlie didn't like thinking about it. When he first found it, he didn't know whether to burn it or hang it up, so he just hid it in a drawer and tried not to think too much.

She'd never blamed Charlie, but neither had her mother. They had both left him, he wasn't stupid. Too much thinking. He focused on the TV once more. Some reality show was on, he changed channel, taking a bite out of the oily pizza. He was looking for a sports game, or maybe a film, something to watch and forget the world for a few hours. Billy had told him, Jacob had told him, they'd all said that if he would just turn the damn TV off for a few minutes, and talk, or at least think about how he feels, this depression would never have lasted so long. But he'd never listened, it was much easier to block off his mind. Maybe now he understood why Bella had done the same for all those months, years ago when _they_ left her. She hadn't blamed _them_ either for making her leave. Charlie just hoped she hadn't left in search of them, that wasn't the life she deserved. Even if she didn't blame them, he always had, even before she left. Stop thinking. For some reason, tonight, out of all nights, he couldn't stop thinking about Bella. Maybe it was just coincidence. He changed the channel again and again, flicking until he found a talk show, discussing a popular new movie release. It would have to do.

I watched my reflection in the mirror, turning my head this way and that way. Various makeup artists fluttered around me, tousling my hair, adjusting my necklace. They didn't really need to do much; physically, I was perfect. It may sound like vanity or arrogance, but it's just fact. Besides, I never normally wore makeup, so why start now? A tall, no nonsense woman – with far too much makeup on herself – began slathering thick pink powder on a wide brush. With a light feather touch, I waved her advancing hand away and stood, ready to go.

"Honey, you look far too pale!" She crooned, still holding the brush out to me. "Remember, the cameras will make you look pale as it is, you've got to exaggerate a _little_."

I smiled at her, and sat back down. "Alright. But none of that," I took the brush out of her hand and set it down on the table. "A little foundation. Not too dark, though." She was more than happy to oblige, and began coating my face in a shade of makeup darker than I'd like. Then again, that was showbiz.

"Okay sweetie, that's you done. Is this your first interview?"

"TV interview, yes." I smiled. "I'm going to need to change my contact lenses…"

"Oh! Well, you'll be fine, the movie looks great anyway… I can't wait to see it! I was meant to be getting premiere tickets but, well… That didn't happen." She shrugged regretfully, and I sensed she wanted me to ask about it, but I didn't. Instead, I stood to get my bag, and a fresh pair of contact lenses. Almost as soon as I stood, a pair of hands rested on my shoulders, and a slight force attempted to push me down. Automatically, I sat down. Silently, another of the makeup artists disappeared to get lenses for me. I hoped it wouldn't take too long to get used to this sort of assistance. It had been the same on the movie set, I couldn't get over it. She quickly returned, and I stood, making excuses about the lighting in the room, and made my way to the bathroom, lenses case in hand. I couldn't risk them seeing my eyes. I stood in front of the small bathroom mirror, and peered into my own eyes. The old brown lenses had begun dissolving, leaving my irises a deep maroon colour, almost red. I didn't even need to remove them, they would be gone in a few minutes. Instead, I just popped the new brown ones in and blinked them into place. They didn't look exactly like my old, natural eye colour, but at least they looked _human_, and that was all that mattered, really. A buzzer rang in my dressing room, a sign that I was due on air any minute. I smiled into the mirror and left, ready for my debut.

"So, Isobel, I think everyone here is wondering just where you came from! I mean, it seems you've gone from, quite frankly, a _nobody_, to this international superstar almost overnight! I guess it must be pretty shocking, just how does it feel… how has your life changed?" The host asked. I'd forgotten his name, but it wasn't like I needed to remember it. Like he said, I was an international superstar, any little faux-pas was easily forgiven.

"Oh, the change has definitely been drastic. I'm not ashamed to say, my beginning was difficult. I moved away from home with practically nothing, and um… that's how life stayed for a long time. It wasn't easy, but I've got to tell you, if you stick with it, it'll eventually happen." I said, selling glossy smiles and hope. Of course I couldn't say exactly how difficult life was before getting my 'big break', at least, not without revealing some unpleasant truths about the world.

"I see. So what you're saying is, persistence pays off?"

"Exactly!" I said. This wasn't exactly true, at least, not for me. I thought back to my acting beginnings, vaguely wondering if I would soon wake up in that trashy old hostel, and that all this would be a dream.

Three years ago, when the haze of my depression finally began to lift, I realised it was ridiculous to stay like that, to stay in the same town. I needed a change, an extreme change, to shake me out of my old ways, sweep out the bad memories. And I needed to stop being such a burden on Charlie. He'd never admit it, but I was. Even if I went back to work, started contributing again, I was still an emotional burden. He'd worried about my happiness long enough. I had to get out there, show him I was changing my life myself. But he'd never let me go if I said to him. So it had to be done quickly and quietly. The day that I got up and re-joined the real world was the same day I upped and left.

I didn't have a lot of money, but once I finally got to Los Angeles, I sold the car and managed to rent a tiny apartment. Of course, nowhere was hiring. Things went downhill quickly, and despite Charlie's generous payments to my account, and the small job I got at a failing independent theatre, I couldn't keep up my comfortable lifestyle. After a while, as I was destined to, I joined a bad crowd. Alcohol and drugs became a big part of my life, and I was obviously falling down a metaphorical drain. Any plans I'd ever had disappeared, replaced by the basic dream of staying alive and staying independent. I'd often considered going home, but decided against it – I'd made a conscientious decision to try make it on my own, and if that was what it meant, I'd have to stick to it. That said, I regularly thought of all I'd left behind. I wondered how Charlie was doing without me, if anyone in Forks other than him missed me at all. I wondered if _anyone_, not just my family, missed me. But I didn't like to think about those people, the people who I cared about that didn't feel the same. I'm not going to lie, I did think about them a lot, still more than was healthy; I wondered where they were, if the family were still all together, whether _he_ had someone new, someone less expendable.

But that was the past. At that time, I had to think about the present, how I'd survive day to day.

I never got involved in anything sexual, and the theatre was exactly what I said it was; nothing seedy, just not very good, and not very popular. Despite everything that was going on, I kept my job there, and eventually made it on the stage, to an audience of 20. This was the biggest audience of my career there. But in that audience sat my lucky ticket. And every night after that, it was guaranteed there would be one customer in particular watching me fumble through Shakespeare. Not long after my third performance, he introduced himself. It wasn't necessary, I already recognised him. Not _who_ he was, but _what_. The vampire, who asked to only be known as Don, became my benefactor of sorts. It was Don that started my rise to fame, and also my rise to immortality. He treated me like his doll, and while he never gave me money, material gifts or any luxury, he gave me that boost to get out of the rut myself.

We never mentioned the big bloodsucking V word. We only talked about and did what he wanted, and in the end, it served me well. Soon, other acting companies were searching for me in particular, and the money they were willing to pay me was getting competitive. Turns out I had a knack for acting. Or maybe I didn't, I still don't know what Don's influences on these people were, but it was obvious he was pulling the strings, in one way or another. I have no idea what he stood to gain from my success, but he was definitely determined to get me there. And it was happening. I got an apartment of my own once again, and, as part of a promise to Don, stopped seeing the unhelpful friends I'd made. I was moving up again. But I hit another block. It quickly became clear that though I was popular on stage, and becoming an experienced and recommended actress, I wasn't special. There were others before me who rose and fell in the same short span, and I wasn't any different to the other theatre actors out there. Don noticed this before I did. I was too busy sitting on the small cloud of fame I'd found, marvelling that sometimes, strangers recognised me.

I had long ago given up on the dream of living forever with the man of my dreams, especially since the man of my dreams was neither in my life nor in my dreams – rather, in my desperate nightmares – but that same taste of immortality was dangled before me again, and those nostalgic hopes once again bubbled in my heart. Don't misunderstand me, I wasn't hoping to become a vampire and fall back into that old life where the Cullens would find me again and we'd all live happily ever after. No, I did it to further my career, and because I had nothing to lose, really. And so it happened. I found I had no particular power, other than a strong resistance to the thirst. It didn't take long before I could bear to be in the city, in and around humanity. I did have difficulty making myself appear human, I was often too quick, too strong, too graceful, but I got used to that with time. And just as well, as it wasn't long before Hollywood found me. I was cast with my first movie role, and subsequently, Don disappeared from my life.

And that was it, leading up to my life, days before my first big screen movie premiere. Of course, I could say none of this to the talk show host, or anyone else for that matter. The host had just put on the trailer for my movie, before spending some long winded time talking about it to the audience, giving me time to think and consider my past. I blinked, scolding myself for not remembering to do so earlier. It had probably been a while since I had blinked, or even moved. It had also been a while since I had fed. I could smell the man's blood, though he was sitting on the sofa opposite me. It smelt hot and sweet, with a lingering scent of alcohol and nicotine. I decided he'd probably taste fantastic. At least, to my acquired tastes.

"And that's all we have time for just now, join us after the break and we'll be talking to Rebecca Stone on her upcoming album! You can see Isobel in her debut blockbuster Night Blood, out June 23rd! Isobel, I hear from my crew you've got something special to say before we cut to commercial?"

I had regretted this as soon as I requested it, but I couldn't backtrack now, it had to be done. "Yes, thank you, I-uh, I'd like to make an appeal for a Mr Charlie Swan to get in touch. I hope you're watching but please, _please, _contact the show, thank you."

**R&R, thanks! **

**P.S. "Isobel" is a stage name, but she's still Bella. Didn't really know how to address that...**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Sorry for the long delay, really didn't know quite how to write this chapter, so sorry if it's not quite right. Probably not really in Bella's 'voice'. Also, I'm not entirely sure how much I'm allowed to write with this rating, there's a bit of violence, a little bit of swearing, I tried to cut out the unnecessary.**

**Chapter 2 - An Introduction to 'Forever'**

After the interview, I arrived back in my hotel room, hungrier than I'd been in a while. I'd probably not eaten for longer periods of time, it was just the closeness of hot, healthy bodies making me needy. I sat at the vanity table, removing my makeup and contact lenses, becoming more _me_, not the famous actress Isobel Stark, but the young vampire, Isabella Swan. Though I could move in an almost unnoticeable way, too silent or too quick for human eyes, it was too much effort to try sneak through the heavily guarded hotel security. Instead, I used the window.

Out in the streets, I considered the interview, especially, my last words. Was that really what I wanted to say? It probably wouldn't be ideal having Charlie see me, try contact me. Although the chances of him watching the show were low, it was in hindsight a risky move. I didn't know what I expected to happen; if I expected to walk back into his life after running out on him I was stupid, to say the least. I didn't know why I wanted that, either. I wasn't Bella anymore, a lot had changed since my time in Forks, not just physically. Mentally, emotionally, I was different. We probably didn't need each other anymore, didn't know each other anymore, so why the hassle?

I sauntered down one of Los Angeles' many alleyways, taking a turn into a poorer neighbourhood. Though the street appeared dark and silent, it wasn't long before someone approached me. A young boy, wearing a dark grey hooded sweater. He looked sullen and neglected, had probably ran away from home, whatever measure of home he'd had. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was too late; I gently grabbed his head, pulling the hood away. His startled face was only within my vision for a second, before I sank my teeth into his neck. It would be unfair to this poor, short life to say my mind was elsewhere, but it was true. Though I was enjoying the sweet, flowing feeling of his blood in my mouth, I couldn't stop thinking about Charlie, and the consequences of my thoughtless request to him. I knew he wouldn't have left Forks, so why didn't I just go back there to see him? Was I that narcissistic that I wanted him to see me as a big star? The itching burn of my throat faded along with the boy's blood supply; too soon, it was over. Before dropping his limp body, I took his sweater, opting to wear it for security, and comfort. As I did, a small knife slipped conveniently from his pocket. It clinked to the ground near his torn throat. I left it at that, deciding to move on, and quickly.

For the daughter of a police officer, I wasn't very good with crime scenes. I should have left the body in a better state, or not left it at all. But I was moving on soon, so it didn't matter. I wasn't proud of the lacklustre way I'd disposed of a life, but I was a realist. I'd prefer not to be using humans at all, but in the city, it was the easiest thing to do. I sure as hell wasn't going to starve over my own morals.

Other than Forks, LA was my home. Phoenix had never really felt like home, considering my permanently pale complexion and clumsy inability to fit in. That said, LA and Phoenix weren't that far apart, in both distance and temperature. It was just that I'd had to grow up so much more in LA, I'd learnt the streets, learnt the way of life. It was in LA that I'd been reborn, and consequently adapted. No, I couldn't survive in Forks anymore. The town was too small, too close knit and too whitebread. It wasn't just that it wouldn't support the celebrity lifestyle, but I'd also grown to love the horror and grime hidden within a city, after all, that was what I was raised anew in.

I turned another corner, and happened upon my old apartment block. It was a tall, red brick building, the doorway situated between the back entrance of a shady laundrette and a newsagents. The hallway was a drab grey color, dotted with graffiti and dirt. I didn't go inside. Instead, I resolved to wander my way back to the hotel, reminiscing as I went.

I remembered the last night when I could sleep, my last day as a mortal. It wasn't my first time seeing a dead body, but it was the first time I'd seen a human being murdered. I was back in the apartment, sleeping after a particularly tiring night. While I was on my way up in showbiz and had promised to sever ties with all the criminals, all the addicts I had known, _they_ had never promised such a thing. As it turned out, certain individuals weren't happy to be left out, now that I was making money. I woke up to a sharp stinging sensation on my head and face, and opened my eyes in time to see a boot swinging at my face before my nose exploded in a starburst of pain. With a shriek, I covered my face and turned away from my attacker. It was no use, I was hoisted up by the shoulders, face to face with a gaunt, pale face. The eyes that stared into my own were crazed and filled with the urgency brought on by the promise of money. The low voice was one I recognised, the voice of someone I had considered an acquaintance, someone I'd spent a great deal of time with, though I had trouble remembering any hours, minutes of happiness we'd shared. He was asking about some owed money, some debt he decided _I_ was to repay. Dazed in the dark, I admit I lost the power of speech, and instead I resorted to wails and sobs, none of which were very helpful to my attacker. I realised then that he wasn't alone; another of his friends was raking carelessly around my room, smashing and crashing everything in their path, searching for valuables.

"Where is it?!" The man yelled again, shaking me, hard. I wasn't strong then, not yet a vampire, and so all I could do was sob. I was certain it would all end here, now. I had nothing to give them, and even if I did, they weren't owed it, they didn't deserve it. I couldn't even give them anything to make them leave me alone; it wasn't like I had a safe or a treasure chest, it was all in banks.

"There's nothing in here," the voice of the other creaked out from a corner. I recognised her too, though I couldn't see her features in the dark room. "Stupid bitch hid it from us." She concluded, turning her attention to me. I'd been foolish to think I'd ever had any companionship with these people. Sure, we'd leant on each other, used group solidarity and mentality, but it was all about the cash. I was just another victim now, a sell-out to them.

"L-listen, I-" I started, only to be shook into silence. Bargaining would get me nowhere, they didn't think of me as one of them, not anymore. Now, I was nothing to them, nothing but a reserve of money.

"No, _you_ listen, you slut!" He said, shaking me for emphasis. "I don't know what sort of deal you got yourself, where you can afford all this, afford your wonderful life, I don't care who you've been whoring yourself out to, you wouldn't have got _anywhere_ without us, hell, you'd be dead without us!" As he spoke, there was an unmistakable sound of a gun being loaded. "We thought you'd be happy to pay us back, we'd be your first thought, but no, instead you shun us, treating us like shit on your shoes, we don't hear from you for a while." Bullets being checked, a chamber replaced. "So we decide to check on you, make sure you're doing okay without us, and we find you living like this, leaving us out! So what, you think that's okay, that you should be allowed to move on to something better? Let me tell you, there isn't a 'better'." A finger resting on a trigger, a slow exhale. The girl behind him was ready. "You pay us now, or we're gonna kill you."

There is a problem in the human condition, one that is resolved in the vampire transformation. Upon hearing those final threatening words, I struggled in his grip. I knew they were being serious, I knew they'd done this before. I knew that the only thing I could really do was point out valuable items, give them my bank details – though without actually having my face, my bank would remain locked to them – maybe hope for the best and close my eyes to the oncoming end. However, all I could do was scream in his hold, scrape my nails on his arms and flail my legs, hoping to catch him unaware.

A gunshot was fired, and I stopped screaming, stopped struggling, feeling the imaginary death. It took a few seconds to realise I hadn't actually been shot, hadn't died at all. I heard a weak curse from the woman, and it dawned on me – she couldn't see. "Put the light on," The man said, his voice dropping the aggressive tone slightly.

"What, and let the whole neighbourhood know where we are?" She retorted.

"I think it's already pretty clear," He replied dryly. "Just open the blinds a little, then."

"Wait! Wait.. I'll pay." I managed, using their distraction to gain time. "Please, look we can go to the bank together, in the morning, we'll-"

"Too late!" The woman replied, raising the blinds in one forceful yank, letting the moonlight into my room and her bullet into my ribcage.

The man - who, in the light, I properly identified as Sketch – let out a loud curse, and dropped me on the bed. As the world disappeared in a cloud of agony, I overheard two remarks. First, that the shot that the woman, Jo, had fired had missed Sketch by an inch. Second, that I had been shot in the ribs, not in the leg, as the two had previously planned to do to show me that they were serious.

At the time, none of this mattered to me. All I could think of was Sketch, or rather, his name. I didn't know his real name, only Sketch. He was known as Sketch because of his recurrence in police crime scene sketches, in the drawn up memories of witnesses and victims. Basically, the sketch of his face was known all across the city, and yet, he could – and often did – meet with police officers face to face, and nobody recognised him. Somehow, he had evaded all security cameras, all sorts of surveillance. I thought of my apartment block's cameras, wondered briefly if he'd managed to escape them, too. I thought of catching him, getting him put away. But then I regretted this; after all, they were just trying to survive. They knew I was earning money, knew where I lived, knew how to get in – I was an easy target to the desperate mind. Should I have wanted to be the one to put them away, having lived as they lived once too?

Something was going on in the real world, but all I knew was the sensation of blood flowing from my side. It felt like letting out a deep breath. The pain was almost too intense to feel it anymore, and instead I entered a stationary, silent hysteria. I thought of Charlie, alone in Forks. He'd never know I'd died, or maybe he already thought me dead. Well, he was right now. I wonder if it'd ever reach the news, a newspaper he'd read, whether it would come up in a crime report at his work. I thought of my Mom, considered the fat, childish tears she'd cry, learning that not only had I lived in near poverty here, but I'd been murdered. I wondered how she would hear about it, too. I was totally cut off from them, maybe they'd never really know. I'd just be their lost failure of a daughter, someone they hopelessly believed would turn up at their door with a husband and kids, looking for a forgotten family.

I thought of the Cullens, too. They'd never know me again, alive or dead. This ending didn't have anything to do with them, not even emotionally. When they left, they left me to die anyway, why did it matter it was just so soon after they left? Well, soon to them, those who had forever. I couldn't imagine forever. It had always been so close to me, in three separate creatures, 'forever' had been within reach. First with Edward himself, eternity was always seconds away. Then James had bitten me, and I touched immortality for sweet, too-short moment. And then Don, with his unspoken promise, he was going to change me, sooner or later. It didn't matter if that had been my ultimate goal in life, to be immortal, it was all over now. I wasn't going to be mortal for very long, I wasn't going to live much longer. It also didn't matter if my main goal had been to stay with Edward forever; that had slipped from my grasp long ago.

When suddenly, thinking of Edward seemed to have summoned him. Sketch and Jo had left my conscious awareness some time ago, and finally I was lifted by two strong, alabaster white arms. I was lifted in the same fashion as Sketch had lifted me, held up by the shoulders. So it wasn't the warm embrace I wanted from him, but Edward was here, he had saved me yet again from near death. And I could feel it, this time, he wasn't going to let me go. Happiness was bubbling up in me, in short sharp gasps I tried to call for him, tried to thank him and assure him of my love. It was in this second I realised how much I had missed him, how little had changed in my heart. With a force beyond my own powers, I managed to raise my eyelids, something within me had to see his face, to feel the welcome comfort of his smile. He'd tell me everything was going to be okay, that Carlisle could fix me right up, and if not, we could still be together in his world, in his 'forever'. He'd be so sorry for leaving silly old me, because we couldn't live without each other, it was clear now.

But I had to take off my 'rose-tinted glasses', as the metaphor goes.

There wasn't the heady, intoxicating scent he normally had, but instead, an awful, coppery scent. A euphoric smile pasted on my face, I opened my eyes. Of course it wasn't Edward. A head of dark hair bowed to my neck, and I used the last of my energy in a scream, but not because of the stranger's current actions. Illuminated by the streaming moonlight, Sketch and Jo lay dead in my apartment, bodies mangled beyond human comprehension. It was then that I embraced a newer, stronger pain than the bullet in my ribs, and I left mortality behind. Don was making good on his promise. As my neck burned with the sensation of lava, I fell unconscious, content, despite the fiery ache, that this wasn't the end.

It was hard to believe that had all just happened months ago. When I had finally awoke, I was alone in my apartment, the bodies of Sketch and Jo, all evidence of them being there was gone. And Don was missing, too. I'd never heard from him or seen since. However, it was stupid to think he didn't have something to do with me never having to deal with police, or any of my attacker's accomplices. All of this was his doing, changing me, making me into a starlet, and why? I preferred not to think of it, but rather, write it down to the whim of a very old soul, bored with the usual. Why else would he have done all this for me?

I approached the hotel, this time opting for the front door. It was late now, too late for many people to still be around. With my slim, almost boyish figure obscured by the sweater I'd stolen, it was easy to mistake me for a surly teenage boy, especially with the dark hood pulled over my face. I received minimal attention, even from the remaining diehard fans. The security around my room door were different to those who had been there when I left, and they obligingly let me back in my room.

It was strange, living with this much security, this many hoops to jump through to be safe, especially when I knew I could deal with any human disturbance myself. Still, keeping up appearances. I removed the sweater, and absently booted up the computer.

Maybe it was because I had thought about it, but for some reason, my rib was hurting. It didn't hurt in the way a wound would have hurt as a human, but rather, it was a dull throb, more of a sensation than a pain, the feeling of the bullet smarting between my ribs. It was still there, unable to cut through my diamond strong skin. If I pressed hard enough, I could still feel it. I had expected it to dissolve with the venom in my system, like the lenses, but it was still there.

As expected, my call for Charlie had not been ignored by the social media. Already blogs were buzzing, news websites were discussing and falsifying my life, my inbox was full of emails to both my private and public accounts. I checked my emails from my agent Jenna first, and learned that she was shocked and appalled at my impulsive move, and would not be checking my fan mail for fake Charlie Swans, love letters or death threats tonight.

Curious, I searched them myself. After the first page, I realised I was going about it wrong, there were over three thousand to look through. Instead, I typed 'Charlie' into the email search bar. Then 'Charlie Swan'. Jenna was right, there were so many people pretending to be him. Many hadn't put together who he was to me, and had created emails too vulgar to repeat. A few were more legit, calling me home, and leaving their address and phone numbers, but upon looking at the sender address it was clear they were a fraud. However, what they said did make me homesick for Charlie and Forks. I searched 'Forks' next, and came up _nearly_ blank. You'd be surprised at some of the emails I'd received; there were two mentioning Forks, neither meaning the place, but both leaving me slightly disturbed. I tried several other searches, including Charlie's home phone number, the name of his street, even silly obscure message ideas such as his favourite beer, favourite dish I'd made him. I tried Mom's name too and found nothing.

Before too long, looking through endless emails became boring, so I switched it off and started reading my book instead. It was _Pride and Prejudice_, and I'd read it so many times I could probably recite it.

If I'd just searched my emails for 'Bella Marie Swan', I'd have found the email I was looking for, and another I hadn't expected, but deep down, still wanted.

**P.S: I know the dialogue was a little shoddy, I'll try work on that. And I know quite a few words use English spelling, not American spelling... my bad. I've tried, but... you'll have seen for yourself.**

**Thanks for reading, as always, lots of love & R&R! :) **


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